


Baby Talkin'

by Eimeh



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (for now 👀?), Angst, Bad Internal Thoughts, Character Study, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hanzo Shimada is Bad At Communication, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentioned Doomfist: The Successor | Akande Ogundimu, Nice Guy McCree, Past Doomzo, in fact Jesse McCree has the patience of a saint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:55:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25510957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eimeh/pseuds/Eimeh
Summary: What he had with Jesse was earned—trust that had been gained through blood, late-night confessions, and impossibly soft touches. He thought hazily back to the beginning of their interactions, from the mutual begrudging respect and shared vices to the eventual seed of affection that was carried tenderly between them. The two of them had moved so carefully around the other, as if afraid that this new thing could simply disintegrate on their fingertips.He was sure that Jesse had taken his inaction as an answer.“You’re not happy.”“Well honey, I feel like I could say the same about you.”“Are we working?”“God, I want us to.”(AKA "it's based off of a song and it's gonna be an introspective piece on Hanzo's mind as he tries to struggle through his own damaged view on relationships.")
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 5
Kudos: 59





	Baby Talkin'

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song [BB Talk](https://open.spotify.com/track/2Zyl5qoictRPon7YmT4Cg0?si=oilsg4glTqSbqOyWqIVfcw)  
> Edited by my lovely, patient betas [ KiwiBerry ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiwiBerry) and [Yurama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yurama)
> 
> Thank you so much for your help!

The early morning light filtered through the window and Hanzo rolled onto his side, observing the man next to him in bed. In his dream, he had been lying next to another man. A different one from a long time ago. _Akande_. He could still feel traces of Akande’s touch on his body and the press of lips on his own. He scrubbed his hand across his mouth, chasing away the feeling. The reminder of his past left him reeling and had startled him awake—Hanzo was trapped in his body while his lungs struggled to breathe in enough oxygen to soothe his nerves and root him to the present. He focused his gaze forward and tried to chain his presence to the man lying beside him.

His eyes trailed over Jesse’s face: his strong nose bridge, the defined curve of his lips, his soft and thick eyelashes. Still wading through the fog in his mind, he examined those eyes that had always looked at him so sweetly—how they wrinkled in the corners in a way that was only reserved for him. 

Hanzo reached out, his hand hovering over the curve of his jaw, but not quite touching. He wanted to trail his fingers over his lips, to gently take his face into his hands and bring their lips together—a ghost of a kiss in the early sunlight. The image of his dream echoed back into his mind, like a stabbing pain behind his eyes, and the memory superimposed over his reality. Hanzo let out a ragged breath. He rolled onto his back, closed his eyes, and tried to rein his thoughts in.

What had brought about the sudden reminder of Akande? What he had with Jesse was _earned_ —trust that had been gained through blood, late-night confessions, and impossibly soft touches. Still, he thought hazily back to the beginning of their interactions, from the mutual begrudging respect and shared vices to the eventual seed of affection that was carried tenderly between them. The two of them had moved so carefully around the other, as if afraid that this new thing could simply disintegrate on their fingertips.

Hanzo mindlessly toyed with the bedsheet between his two fingers. He was self-aware enough to recognize that he was at times flighty, and that he typically shied away from Jesse’s warm words and nicknames. That, instead of bringing a flush to Hanzo’s face, Jesse’s sweet talk would cause him to tense and become overwhelmed by a moment of nausea. Hanzo was incapable of stopping that avoidant nature even after he caught onto Jesse’s sad smiles, and even after the words began to dwindle. The unspoken dissonance between them felt like a personal failure on his part; he was unsure how to properly express himself, and even more unsure how to preserve these moments of affection without spoiling it. 

And he _did_ want to preserve those moments, despite the effects that they had on him. That mix of feelings was more confusing than the dream that he awoke from, and it brought about a different understanding of his situation. After revisiting his time shared with Akande through his dreams, Hanzo realized that there had always been an underlying note of loneliness. That had been the overarching issue between him and Akande—Hanzo had been looking for some end to the loneliness and for someone who he could share his life with, and he wasn’t certain if that was Akande. Jesse had offered himself to Hanzo, but the steps towards that seemed too great to take. Jesse’s genuinity made his eyes threaten to water from the intensity. His words flooded his senses and completely disarmed him.

Hanzo looked over at his sleeping partner: Jesse was lying on his front with his arms wrapped around the pillow under his head. He turned away. He didn’t think that he could bear to open himself to any more punishment if his time with Jesse ended bitterly. Hanzo scrubbed at his eyes, banishing the thoughts that plagued him.

How could he explain himself to Jesse? Even when their kisses on the couch were interrupted and the two pulled back, Hanzo could still feel the uncomfortable thrum of electricity through his shoulders when Jesse settled with his head on his lap instead. What reason could he give for why Jesse kissing his head during communal breakfast caused shivers down his back for all of the wrong reasons? Or why an easy conversation with Ana had suddenly turned tense when Jesse’s hand had found his own. 

His floundering was embarrassing and left him with the distinct feeling of inadequacy. All of the moments that he spoiled through his inability to reciprocate—where he buried his head in the other man’s armpit, or turned away from a kiss—weighed heavily down on him. He was left to find comfort in a man that he could offer nothing to in exchange. It left him feeling stupid and, above all other emotions, that was the most prominent.

But being with Jesse, and their moments alone together, also brought Hanzo a level of peace and safety that he had not experienced since he was child. Even when Hanzo was with Akande, there was a level of reservation from both sides that acted as another layer of protection. Between them, each affectionate touch was a gift—a small offering to each other—and Hanzo had treasured every isolated moment. Looking back, those small actions that stuck in his head had always been tinged with longing, a yearning for something more. He could still feel the trace remnants of his dream: a lingering glance from Akande, a brush of shoulders paired with a hot look, a gentle hand tucking a stray hair into place. With Akande, too, Hanzo had made space for himself in the other man’s arms, comforted by the warm embrace. But it wasn’t enough; brief touches were chased by hesitant hands, and Hanzo had felt like he was reaching out too far over a ledge. He buried his face in his pillow, and tried to remember the reason for why he and Akande had broken apart. 

His and Akande’s teasing had allowed the two of them to protect their dignity from their small offerings of affection. Only now did he realize that it was those reservations with Akande that had always left Hanzo on edge. Hanzo had thought that he was comfortable with it, and that those shared sly smirks had suited their distant love. That was one of the many things that drew him to Akande to begin with, but in comparison to Jesse, it was just an empty reflection of what they could have been. 

With Jesse, every affectionate touch wasn’t a mere indulgence, but how he operated. There was no need to ask for anything when Jesse gave so freely. He and Jesse were partners above all else; even before they became tangled in romance, they had grown to rely on each other the most. That was the key difference between his relationships with Jesse and Akande. 

He and Akande were best valued as individuals and what they were capable of. Their similarities—the shared value of honor and dignity—had made them an obvious fit, but that was where the issue stayed rooted for Hanzo. He had always been surrounded by people just like himself and, at one point in his life, he had curated those traits in the people around him. Jesse’s reverent touches went completely against this, but being with Jesse felt right, like it had satisfied some previously unknown craving.

It struck him that he appreciated Jesse _more_ for his ways of displaying affection—that distance had never suited Hanzo and he had never noticed how much emptier his life was because of it. Instead of relief at this revelation, Hanzo’s bitter, self-directed anger only grew in the parts that consumed him. Even in the privacy of his own mind, it was hard to acknowledge that a loud part of him loved those sweet words, and that he preened at Jesse’s attention even though his emotions were at conflict. It was daunting to verbalize this to Jesse and, even if he were to try, he had the suspicion that the words would dissipate as soon as they came to mind.

It wasn’t as if Hanzo didn’t understand that his actions were pushing Jesse away. Never before would he have described himself as emotionally dumb, but being with Jesse had shifted his perspective on what their relationship could be. He was finding that it was becoming a disheartening new hurdle. It was just beyond his grasp, but _almost_ meant nothing—his inability to act on their relationship would allow it to lie fallow. Across from this self-imposed barrier, Hanzo could see potential for something more. The intimacy that they shared was a balm to his own painful moments, but Jesse’s kindness also exposed the parts that Hanzo was out of touch with. No matter how hard the two worked to meet in the middle to protect their newfound relationship, Hanzo felt like he was trampling on it.

Allowing himself to touch, to feel for Jesse, had been difficult enough without accounting for how brightly Jesse loved in reality. To Hanzo, it was impossible to account for how much loving him burned. The intensity of their time spent together only highlighted how much Hanzo lacked in comparison, and the depth of Jesse’s feelings revealed to Hanzo how shallowly he had gone about his life until now.

Compared to the turmoil that Hanzo felt in face of all of these gentle touches, what he had with Akande had almost seemed easy. He was sure that he had loved him, perhaps had never stopped, but they had parted for a reason. Their time together had ended with a grave finality—second thoughts manifesting as dreams notwithstanding. 

Of the few people that Hanzo had allowed to take residence in his heart, Akande had been the most gracious of guests. Where Jesse’s mouth never seemed to tire of whispering sweet nothings into his ear, Akande had gifted his affection with his hands—taking Hanzo’s strained limbs and kneading away any remaining pain with precise movements. Everything from Akande was carefully measured, which left Hanzo drowning in excess with Jesse at times. 

In so many ways was Jesse different. Everything was softer with him, and Hanzo was at a loss. Every attempt to communicate or reciprocate felt ham-fisted. It brought shame to him since he never would have doubted his ability to act with deliberate cause before. 

Hanzo turned his head to observe the man sleeping next to him, only to see that he was now awake. Still soft from sleep and barely awake, Jesse had his head pillowed lazily on his arms, but his eyes were trained on Hanzo with a certain type of single-minded intensity. Peeking out from underneath his head, Jesse’s fingers wiggled in a jaunty wave before he spoke. 

“Got somethin’ on your mind?” 

Hanzo hummed, partially clearing his throat while he considered his next words. Feeling caught, and with a small bubble of panic rising up his throat, he kept his response brief.

“I had a dream.”

The way that Jesse looked at him pinned him to the spot. Hanzo was paralyzed, like a spotlight was suddenly shining on him, leaving him unsure of what to do with this level of attention. Jesse readjusted himself, rolling off of his stomach and onto his side. He lifted the blanket around him and gestured for Hanzo to come closer. Again, the aching feeling in his chest reemerged, but Hanzo still nestled himself in the arms of his cowboy, hating himself for seeking this moment of comfort during his unspoken turmoil.

Hanzo relished in the warmth from Jesse’s arms, but only for a moment. 

“Is it something that you want to talk about?” 

Hanzo turned his head away from Jesse’s face, hiding in Jesse’s arm, and loathed how he even found comfort in his smell—how it sat heavily on the back of his tongue, almost tangible. It was something that filled him with the desire to trace every inch of him with his mouth, savoring the taste of his skin. He shut his eyes tighter, trying to wrangle his thoughts back into some semblance of order. 

Enough time had passed from Jesse’s question that he was sure that his inaction had been taken as his answer. Still, Jesse pulled them together and his arms seemed to tighten a minuscule amount around him, as if he was aware of Hanzo’s own internal struggles. 

Jesse dipped down and pressed a kiss to the side of Hanzo’s head, trailing down to his cheek, before settling into the crook of his neck. “Oh, darling.” 

His whispered words of reassurance ghosted off of Hanzo’s skin and sent chills down his spine that made his throat constrict like he was choking on all of the emotions he held back. 

Jesse’s arms wrapped around Hanzo, and he traced idle circles into his side. “Han, sweetie, I got you. What do you need?” 

Restless energy tangled up Hanzo’s insides, gnarling his words and misshapening his thoughts. He bit them back and reached out to rest his hand over Jesse’s chest instead. 

Hanzo trailed his hand downward, skimming over a raised nipple, and getting tangled in a trail of hair leading lower. Jesse let out a surprised burst of air, choking on something, and the stream of nonsense in his ear came to a stuttering stop. 

Hanzo swung a leg over Jesse’s thighs, letting the blanket that was draped around them fall off of his shoulders. His hands briefly gripped around the promising bulge beneath him before reaching over to the nightstand for the lube. 

His fingers worked quickly behind him, trying to lose himself in the moment, and he teetered on the knife’s edge between pain and pleasure and going just a bit too fast. Hanzo let out a shuttered breath, scissoring quickly with his fingers while chasing that feeling. 

“Oh, god, baby, just look at you.” 

Hanzo was broken from his thoughts and looked down at the man below him. The way that Jesse’s hands lightly slid down his chest made his breath hitch, but the expression on his face is what made the ache reappear in Hanzo’s chest. He closed his eyes, trying to prevent the reappearance of that choking feeling in his throat. He redoubled his efforts, letting small gasps escape as he brushed over a spot that made a shiver wrack through his body. Jesse’s wandering hands encouraged him, helping him find a rhythm to work towards. 

Jesse’s expression crinkled at the edges. “I could spend the rest of my days looking at you here. Just look at ya, Han.” His hands moved idly at his hips. “How strong you are, even though you’re sweet on me.” 

Jesse’s hands moved to frame his face, pressing a kiss to each side. “I feel like we were made to fit perfectly against each other.”

Each comment reverently whispered to Hanzo made energy light up and down his arms and neck. A chill ran over his body, making it difficult to focus past the looming presence of his thoughts. It was that same restless energy that spurred him to put his free hand over Jesse’s mouth, fueled by the single-minded desire to get him to _just stop talking_ before he simply burst. He leaned down, breath rustling the hair curled around Jesse’s ear. 

“Stop saying such useless things and put your damn mouth to better use,” he growled. “Or just fuck me already.” 

Underneath him, Jesse grew incredibly still and his hands went slack at his waist. 

“Wait,” Jesse’s touch on his shoulders roused him from his thoughts. “Wait, Hanzo. What’s up?”

He pushed up, making space between the two of them. “I feel like I’m getting mixed messages here—gettin’ my chain jerked around.”

The feeling of despair returned, and Hanzo made one more attempt to shove it away. He pushed back down on Jesse’s shoulders, but he didn’t move. “Just fuck me already and stop telling me all of these things!”

It was too much. How he _craved_ the feel of Jesse’s touch on his skin, the warmth of his breath in his ear, yet he felt powerless to his reaction to it. Hanzo wanted to yell out in frustration—he’d found yet another way to immeasurably cause Jesse pain—and he wistfully considered what it meant that these words only unfurled as barbed, ugly wires.

When Hanzo looked up, a carefully neutral expression schooled Jesse’s face.

“Is that what you want?”

Hanzo shoved himself off of Jesse, wiping his hands on the sheets, and retreated back to his side of the bed. He swung his legs over the edge of it and dug the palms of his hands into his eyes. Through his deliberations, he could feel the intensity of Jesse’s gaze on his back. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and Hanzo tried to get past the sensation of being watched. His breath staggered, but he concentrated on each inhale and hung tenuously onto the exhales. He waited until his breath had evened out before speaking.

“You’re not happy.”

“Well, honey.” A bitter huff escaped from Jesse’s lips. “I feel like I could say the same about you.”

Horrifyingly, embarrassingly, Hanzo felt the threat of tears prick on his eyes. He angrily wiped at them with the edge of his palms, dragging his hands down the sides of his face, before taking a final steadying breath—forcing back the hot flush that still threatened to overtake him. 

“Are _we_ working?” he choked out. 

At Jesse’s silence, a shot of fear went up his spine, making him lightheaded. Hanzo twisted around to glean some information off of his face, only to see a reflection of himself there. Hanzo could recognize the distress that he found—his furrowed brow and downturned mouth were matched on his own. Leaning into his space, Hanzo could make out his own pinched expression in the shine of Jesse’s eyes.

“God, do I want us to.” 

And Hanzo could see how desperately those words were yanked from him, how that gnawing feeling resonated deeply within himself. 

He wanted to comfort Jesse, to somehow help ease the obvious pain that he was in, but he couldn’t imagine how. He couldn’t picture how he could offer support to him without his actions coming off as manufactured and insincere. 

When the two of them first came together, their companionship had been filled with quiet contemplations and enough space for thoughts to flourish. Each step into the other’s life was tentatively taken, before softly retreating with a hidden smile. But increasingly over time, their moments together were interrupted by saccharine-sweet words that made a hot flush run up Hanzo’s body. And just as often, he was confronted with the fact that he didn’t know how to accept this love. At first, he’d been convinced that he was partnering with a kindred spirit. Yet, as he learned more about Jesse, it became even more apparent how much Hanzo found himself lacking. He was hit by a wave of shame—thinking about how little he had to offer in comparison to Jesse. Hanzo was a man of quiet action, and was unbalanced by the incremental discovery of Jesse’s warm nature. 

Hanzo was lost; how could he get accustomed to someone declaring their affections so loudly? He feared that he never would and what that would mean for him and Jesse. And even at that moment, he held onto those same unconfronted fears. But with Jesse in front of him and with that sorrowful expression on his face, Hanzo feared where this conversation might lead and, more than anything, he wished that he could hide all of this away—folded and put neatly under everything else. 

Whether or not he voiced it, some form of that thought must’ve shown on his face. Jesse held out a tentative hand. Of course he had noticed, and Hanzo was stupid for fooling himself into thinking otherwise.

“Hanzo, I don’t know how to explain to you—” Jesse dropped his hand, instead running it through his hair with a slightly crazed look pinching his expression. “Can you tell me what the problem is? Am I reading this wrong?” Gesturing empty-handedly to the air, Jesse looked up aimlessly, “Talk to me.”

Hanzo desperately tried to unstick the words from his throat, but his efforts left him dizzy. “I don’t know how to talk about this. I don’t think I _can_ talk about this.”

Jesse looked like he was collecting himself—preparing for the worst.

“Well, we don’t have to talk about this right now, but Han, I don’t know how much longer I can go on for,” he said quietly. 

Hanzo felt something shrivel inside of himself, suddenly hit by the meaning of that. 

“Do you want me to give you some space right now?” Jesse asked.

“No. Stay.”

Hanzo hated that this was the only confirmation he could give Jesse for now. He closed his eyes and imagined how his rough, callused hands would brush the hair from Jesse’s face and tuck a stray strand behind his ear. The blunt fingers would catch on a snag, but those were carefully untangled with soft touches. Hanzo yearned to run his fingers through Jesse’s hair in the same way.

His hands twitched, but Hanzo found himself incapable of recreating the image stuck in his mind. Instead, he outstretched a hand into the space between them, hoping that Jesse could understand his meaning.

“All right.” Tentatively, Jesse laid his hand on top of Hanzo’s before lying back down. 

Hanzo could sense the teetering balance that they had struck. He considered the branches of their future before him, and his mind singled out one path. In their terrifyingly delicate situation, he felt as though one wrong move could have them torn apart from one another. 

Quietly, the two lied next to each other and Hanzo could feel Jesse’s warmth through their linked hands. He tried to collect himself in order to gather his thoughts, and tested out a few words by mouthing their shape into the air around him. 

Feeling slightly more composed, Hanzo twisted to watch the steady movement of Jesse’s breathing. Jesse had his prosthetic arm draped loosely on his chest, his other hand mindlessly moving up and down Hanzo’s. His fingertips brushed up against the back of Hanzo’s hand, before grazing his nails across his knuckles and petting his wrist. 

But the expression on his face forced a wet exhale from Hanzo. “What are you looking for, Jesse?”

Jesse’s gaze shuttered, but Hanzo was close enough that he could see his eyes shifting below his lashes, thinking, and he chewed on the corner of his lip before replying.

“I’ve been alone a long time and, I dunno, I think I’m just looking for something from you that tells me that ain’t the case anymore.” Jesse turned to face Hanzo fully, an earnest look on his face. “I don’t want to scare you away, or make ya feel like I’m forcing you into anything.”

But Jesse’s face then morphed into something more grim. He tilted his head down and pressed his mouth into a thin line before continuing, “I just need to know—I need to know if this is as real for you as it is for me.” At that final phrase, Hanzo, who had felt adrift until that moment, was pulled in by his gaze. 

What could Jesse gain from him other than heartache? While Hanzo was drowning in a loud love, Jesse had been quietly starving.

Hanzo slowly sat up, hands held limply on his lap. Stiltedly, he said, “There are times where I cannot _breathe_. In your embrace, there’s simply no room in my head aside from your overwhelming presence in it.”

Hanzo had always floundered in matters of the heart—lashing out on those closest to him. He was made of cutting words that guarded his intentions. That was the fault that burned deepest inside of himself, and he could see it echo through his life clearly in a brutal cycle.

And then the real reason for why he and Akande fell apart resurfaced from the fog in his mind; Akande had asked Hanzo to follow him into the clutches of Talon, but instead they had separated. Hanzo’s answer to the moral quandary that Akande had posed had ultimately meant nothing when he was immobilized by the gravity of choice. That heavy weight had rooted his feet to the ground while Akande had eventually walked away from any future they may have shared together. Their end had not been because they were at differing ends of that moral quarrel, but because of his own indecisiveness. And with a steady heart, Akande had ended their relationship with a sweep of finality. Through his inaction, and his inability to answer the question posed to him, Hanzo had chosen the path where their lives could only ever clash at the intersections.

Jesse’s gaze was still focused on him. Hanzo took a moment to inspect Jesse, watching the man lying on the bed next to him. Jesse’s mouth was pursed as if he had tasted something incredibly bitter and his tongue peeked out, wetting his lips, before settling back into that grim expression. His hand was curled so that the back of his knuckles were pressed against the corner of his mouth and Hanzo would think that he was deep in thought, if he wasn’t so visibly holding words back. Jesse shifted himself so that he was on his side with his weight resting on his elbow, uneasy.

Hanzo looked away. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to speak of this without wounding you,” he muttered.

Jesse looked down, nodding his head while collecting himself. “No, I’m fine. It sounds like I’ve been hurting you for a long time.”

“No, that’s not it at all.” Hanzo mindlessly rubbed at his neck. “Perhaps if I could only—” He held out a hand, stopping himself. “I have to admit I’m unaccustomed to this degree of frankness, but you _know_ me, along with all of the things that I’ve done, and yet you’re still here.” His hand waved uselessly towards Jesse. “So perhaps, I could work to get past…” 

What did he mean? Get past Jesse’s whispered words and warm touches, or his own reaction to it? In their quiet moments together, Hanzo could see the opportunities for gentle touches to be returned. Yet every time, his habit of solitude would prevent him from acting on those small impulses.

“Get past—” Hanzo looked around the room helplessly, trying to untangle his meaning from the jumble of words lodged on the tip of his tongue. He sighed, words suddenly escaping him.

“Get past what, Hanzo?” Jesse broached gently.

“It’s overwhelming.” Hanzo’s hands again played with the duvet bunched to the side and he inclined his head towards Jesse. “I know what it is that you want, and I know that I haven’t been giving it to you. I’m not sure how to return your affections in the same way you give them.”

“Okay.” Jesse nodded his head, sitting up completely now. “All right, I can hold back on the sweet talk if ya like. And I don’t think that I necessarily _need_ that in return... I just want ya to know what I mean when I do things like that.”

Hanzo looked up sharply. “I’m not a _child._ You shouldn’t need to speak to me like that.”

Jesse held up his hands, “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to treat you with kid gloves or anything, I just want you to know how lucky I am to have you in my life—”

“That’s not even the issue.”

“Then what _is_? Just tell me what’s wrong. God, I don’t know what’s wrong, Hanzo.” Jesse combed his prosthetic through his hair. “I never know where I stand with you. Sometimes you’re sweet with me and I feel like I must be doing something right, but then I feel like you’re hiding us from the others because you tense up so tight once we’re around anyone.”

Jesse let the silence linger, searching for something in Hanzo, before adding, “I only want to make you happy, and I want you to know that I have your back.” Jesse’s fingers drummed against his knee. “I don’t know what I’m doing here, Hanzo. but whatever it is between us, I’m trying to make it work.”

In a dark room, could Hanzo bear the risk of taking the unknown hand? Never in his life had he tried to cultivate trust in another like this. He had become so accustomed to standing alone that he had turned his back to Jesse—ignoring a life separate from the one he had been leading. “It’s me,” he finally breathed out. “And you’re not understanding.”

“But I’m listening.” Jesse took his hands into his own. “Help me, then.”

Hanzo stared intensely at their conjoined hands.

“Hell, Hanzo,” Jesse muttered. “It’s not like the answer’s just gonna drop itself on our laps. Help _us_. I’m on your side.”

Hanzo left out a soft huff, nodding along to Jesse. He knew that was the case, but still found some difficulty in finding the right words.

Damningly slowly, he gritted out, “I would not do this lightly. Vulnerability is something that I have worked against for my entire life, so allowing someone this close—it’s not something that I do without heavy consideration. I want to learn to coexist.” Hanzo closed his eyes, shoving aside his hesitance as well as he could. “I get so few things that I actually want in this world but, more than anything, I want to have you.”

“Okay,” Jesse said, and Hanzo let go of Jesse’s hands in order to extend his arms to him. Falling into his embrace, Jesse mumbled into Hanzo’s shoulder, “Okay, that’s all I need for now. That’s enough.”

With Jesse in his arms, Hanzo felt strengthened and, for the first time this night, he was calm. While not shy, Hanzo recognized how he was lacking emotionally. But just as easily, Hanzo could see the future where they worked together to soothe over each other’s wounds. 

“So I’m not just someone to pass the time?” Jesse said with a joking smile on his face, but a watery note in his tone hinted to Hanzo that there was a thread of sincerity there. 

“No, never.” And the two of them met in the middle, lips slotting together gently. Hanzo’s arms tightened around Jesse before he continued, “More than anything, I want you here.” The series of confessions left Hanzo feeling dizzy again, but this time it was without the usual accompanying heartache. 

“What about this?” A kiss was brushed to their conjoined hands. “Is this alright?” 

A chuckle escaped Hanzo, charmed. “Yes, and I would suggest that we pick up where we last left off, but I’m finding that I’m enjoying our time right here.” He forced his shoulders to relax a degree more. “I think I would be amenable to spending more time like this.”

“Okay, good.” Jesse’s smile was brilliant and, instead of dread, Hanzo felt warmed. “Because I’ve always liked how our hands fit together.”

Finally, Hanzo felt the tension that had been growing release inside of him. It was relief—relief that he hadn’t yet chased Jesse away, and relief that they both wanted something real to tether themselves to each other.

Hanzo smiled brightly through shining eyes.

He knew that this was not the last of their clashes. There would need to be talks about boundaries and compromises, but despite it all, they were here. This conversation, while it gave him the strength to continue, did not fix everything between them. But they would fight, as both companions and lovers, because they knew that chasing this shared feeling was more than either of them had ever felt before.

**Author's Note:**

> Hanzo: tries to fuck his way outta this


End file.
